Max HeyraudLooking back on Gatex, Recycled Loops, Mumps and his early studio years, UMEK traces a path defined by curiosity and change.
Uroš Umek, better known to any self-respecting techno addict as UMEK, is quite simply one of the most important techno producers of all time. The prolific Slovenian producer helped define what techno meant for an entire generation, crafting everything from screaming, synth-forward anthems like Lanicor and Gatex under his flagship UMEK alias to dusty, sample-heavy grooves released as Mumps, Recycled Loops, alongside Valentino Kanzyani.
Tracks such as Hear No Evil, Play No Evil, Dance No Evil still devastate dancefloors in much the same way they did at the turn of the millennium, a testament to just how remarkably enduring UMEK’s catalogue has proven to be. Few artists have left such an indelible mark on the sound of European techno.
During the mid-to-late 2000s, UMEK gradually moved away from the hard-edged, groove-driven sound that had made him a household name within techno, reinventing himself as a mainstage force with a more contemporary style. As he has explained, the shift came “because I’d reached a point where I felt I’d explored that sound enough.”
Now, in 2026, the wheel has come full circle. UMEK is returning to his roots, digging deep into his archives for old-school sets in underground clubs, spinning ’90s records on Instagram, and celebrating the 25th anniversary of Gatex. More than just a milestone release, Gatex remains one of his defining masterpieces, a timeless piece of techno history. Hang it in the Louvre.
Tiësto went on to remix Gatex. How did that come about?
Gatex made quite an impact in the underground scene, and then one day the opportunity came. Tiësto really liked the track and wanted to release his own remix on his label. We agreed, and he ended up bringing it to an even wider audience. That made Gatex a very special record for me. It was supported by some of the biggest names in underground techno, but at the same time it reached one of the biggest electronic artists in the world. Not many tracks manage to cross those worlds so naturally.
Do you remember writing the track, and did you have any idea at the time that it would have such an impact?
Not at all. The funny thing is that I was actually struggling with it. I kept trying different drum grooves, but nothing worked. The track was already so full of sounds that every drum pattern I added just felt weak. Eventually I thought, “Forget it. Let’s do it without drums.” That was it. The rest is history. At the time, I had absolutely no idea it would become one of my most recognised records.
People often refer to that period as the “golden era” of techno. What do you think of that label?
I actually don’t like that label at all. Great music has always existed, and great music is still being made today. The difference is that many people discovered techno during that particular period, so naturally it feels special to them. Of course, those years were exciting because we were creating sounds that people had genuinely never heard before. The scene wasn’t as crowded as it is today, so it was easier to make something that felt completely original.
Today that’s much harder. There are so many producers, so many records, and so many influences. But I don’t think the “golden era” belongs to one specific decade. I think everyone’s golden era is the moment they fall in love with techno. It all depends on how deep you’re willing to dig. If you stay on the surface, you’ll probably think nothing exciting is happening. But if you’re prepared to really explore, you’ll still discover incredible music, amazing DJs, and unforgettable sets. For me, that’s what techno has always been about.
That era of techno, in which you were hugely influential, continues to inspire a new generation of producers and DJs. Your influence seems to have rippled across generations. Was that something you ever imagined, and how do you feel about it today?
It’s amazing to see. I still hear DJs playing tracks like Lanicor, Gatex, my old CLR releases like Jackathon and D4V, and of course a lot of the Recycled Loops records. I never expected those tracks to have such a long life. When I was making them, I wasn’t thinking about legacy. I was simply making music that excited me at that moment. Now, with the rise of the new hard groove movement, although it’s darker and more minimal in many ways, you can still hear some of the ideas and rhythms that we were developing all those years ago. That makes me genuinely happy. Sometimes people say, “We’ve heard this before.” And maybe on the surface that’s true. But if you listen more carefully and really dig into what today’s producers are doing, there’s actually a lot of fresh thinking happening. Maybe that’s just my personality. I’m still like a kid looking for something new, and whenever I find it, it excites me just as much as it did years ago.
Speaking of classics, let’s talk about Recycled Loops, another era-defining project. How much did you enjoy that sample-heavy production style? It must have been a lot of fun to make those records.
At the time, I had two completely different creative worlds. On one side there was Consumer Recreation, where almost everything was built from scratch using synthesisers, drum machines and hardware. Hardly anything was sampled. On the other side there was Recycled Loops, where sampling was the whole philosophy. I loved both approaches equally. Sampling is an art in itself. You take a loop that someone else recorded years ago, something you didn’t create and don’t own, but you give it a completely new life and a new context.
Back then, finding the right sample was a huge part of the creative process. I used to fly to London with an empty suitcase and spend entire days digging through second-hand record shops. There was one shop where the owners already knew me. They had a basement that wasn’t even open to the public, full of old records covered in dust. I’d spend hours down there searching for that one loop nobody else had found. When I came back upstairs, my hands were completely black. I’d been sweating all day, wiping my face without even noticing how dirty my hands were.
When I finally looked in a mirror, I looked like I’d just finished an eight-hour shift in a coal mine. I absolutely loved it. Everyone was searching for that one hidden sample nobody else had discovered. Today it’s completely different. You can go online, search databases like WhoSampled, find the original record within minutes, and start working straight away. It’s much easier now. Back then, it took real effort, and honestly, that’s part of what made it so much fun.
Can you tell me about the Mumps records you released on Tortured Records? They’re some of my favourite releases of yours.
Thank you, I really appreciate that. The Mumps records actually came from the same creative period as Recycled Loops. I see them as part of the same musical world. The difference was that Billy Nasty wanted something exclusive for Tortured Records, and I thought, “Why not?” Looking back, those tracks could easily have been released on Recycled Loops as well; they have the same DNA. I’m really happy they came out on Tortured, though. Especially the double pack; it completely took off. It sold thousands of copies, and DJs everywhere were playing those records. It’s a great feeling knowing that music you wrote all those years ago is still finding its way into people’s sets today.
You also recently remastered Lanicor, another techno classic. How do you feel about the word “timeless” when it comes to music?
It’s funny because I think I only really realised over the last few years how important my back catalogue actually is. Of course, I always knew those tracks meant something, but as a producer I’ve always been focused on what’s next. I’ve never liked living in the past. For years I hardly played Lanicor or Gatex because I was constantly making new music and wanted to present whatever excited me at that particular moment. That’s still my mentality today. These days I play them occasionally, and it’s nice to see how people react. Sometimes I think maybe I made a mistake by leaving them out of my sets for so long. But that’s just how I’ve always worked. As producers and DJs, we’re always looking towards the future. We become so focused on creating the next record that we almost forget what we’ve already done. When people describe tracks like Lanicor as timeless, I take it as a huge compliment. It tells me I managed to create something that still connects with people decades later.
What was your studio like during that 1999–2004 period?
I can’t remember the exact timeline anymore, but if we’re talking about the music I released on Consumer Recreation, the studio was pretty incredible. At one point I owned well over forty synthesisers. Later I realised that both Gatex and Lanicor were actually made with just a Yamaha TX81Z and a Waldorf Pulse, which is funny considering how much equipment I owned. There was an Oberheim, a Sequential Six-Trak, Yamaha synths, and plenty of other analogue gear. Later, when I moved into the studio I shared with Iztok Turk at the Laibach studios, everything became even bigger because we combined our equipment. There were Moogs, an ARP 2600, Waldorf Microwaves, Studio Electronics synths, I made a lot of records using the SE-1, and later the Omega 8 became another favourite. Over the years I also owned three full Serge modular racks, Macbeth synthesisers, Vostok modules, an Alesis Andromeda… honestly, I could keep going. The same applied to the outboard gear. I had Neve EQs, Trident EQs, a Fatso, a Slam! compressor, and plenty of other high-end processors. Towards the end I was mixing on huge Quested HM412 monitors. Looking back now, it really was a monster studio.
Where were you digging for samples back then, and do you think the rise of sample packs has affected creativity?
Most of my sample hunting happened in London. I’d literally fly there with an empty suitcase and come back with a suitcase full of records. There were a few second-hand shops I visited regularly, and eventually the owners knew exactly why I was there. One of them had a dusty basement packed with records that never even made it onto the shelves. That became my playground. Back then, everyone was chasing that one obscure breakbeat or loop that nobody else had found yet. Finding it felt like discovering buried treasure. Today it’s completely different. You can buy thousands of sample packs online or search databases that tell you exactly where every famous sample came from. It’s incredibly convenient. But I also think we’ve lost something along the way. Back then, the search itself was part of the creative process. Finding the sample felt just as rewarding as using it. Now almost everyone has access to exactly the same sounds. That doesn’t necessarily kill creativity, but it definitely changes where creativity comes from. Today it’s less about finding unique material and more about what you do with it.
Were you listening to much hip-hop at the time? There’s certainly a lot of crossover in the production style.
Not really, at least not during that period. I got much more into hip-hop later, especially when producers like Timbaland and The Neptunes completely reinvented what hip-hop production could sound like. I loved that era. Everything sounded futuristic: crazy synthesisers, unusual rhythms, constant modulation. It was incredibly inspiring. I even made a few hip-hop beats myself because I was so fascinated by that style of production. As for the earlier years, I knew plenty of hip-hop because some of my closest friends were well-known Slovenian rappers. They introduced me to artists like Onyx, N.W.A., KRS-One and, of course, Public Enemy. So I knew the music well, but I wouldn’t say I was obsessed with it. Maybe some of those influences found their way into my productions subconsciously, but it was never something I deliberately tried to recreate.
The idea of cutting the original master tapes into thousands of tiny fragments by hand and sealing them inside the vinyl is fascinating. How did you come up with that idea, and why was it important for you to do it by hand?
When I started thinking about the Gatex 25th Anniversary Edition, I kept asking myself one question: “What hasn’t been done before?” I wanted to celebrate twenty-five years in a way that felt genuinely original. Not just another coloured vinyl or another reissue. Then one day the idea came to me: “What if I cut up the original DAT master tapes and embed them inside the records?” As far as I know, nobody had ever done that before. Those weren’t just any tapes, either. The music came from four original DAT masters, but in the end I decided to include material from ten tapes altogether. That means every record contains tiny fragments not only from Gatex, but from other classics from that era as well. For me, those tapes were priceless. Once they were cut, they were gone forever.
I remember sitting there thinking, “Am I really doing the right thing?” Who knows what those tapes might have meant in another twenty or thirty years? Maybe one day they’d have become historical artefacts. Instead, I destroyed them. But I destroyed them for a reason. Now they’re part of something new.
Every single record contains real pieces of the music’s own history. I cut every fragment by hand. It took hours and hours. At first I thought there would be hundreds of pieces, but in reality we’re talking about tens of thousands, probably hundreds of thousands, of tiny fragments. They’re so small that it’s practically impossible for a record not to contain pieces of the original tapes. That was important to me. This whole project became deeply personal. I cut the tapes myself. I assembled every record myself. I packed every order myself. I’ll even ship every copy myself. The only thing I didn’t do was physically press the vinyl. Everything else has passed through my hands. For me, this wasn’t simply about releasing another record. It was about preserving a piece of history in the most physical way I could imagine.
How do you feel about the advancement of music technology? The democratisation of music production has led to an incredible amount of great music, but perhaps fewer truly classic records than in that earlier era.
I actually think that’s true. I’ve thought about this many times. Why don’t we get as many universally recognised classics today? I think one of the main reasons is that today’s DJs are much more specialised. Most of them have a very clearly defined sound, and they stay within that lane. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. If that’s your identity as an artist, great. But because there is so much music available today, everyone can build their own very specific musical world. Back then, there were already plenty of records being released, but when a truly exceptional techno record came out, almost everybody played it. You simply had to. Today, even if someone makes an incredible techno track, a huge percentage of DJs won’t play it—not because it isn’t good, but because it doesn’t fit their particular style. That’s one reason why it’s becoming harder for records to become universal classics. At the same time, technology has completely democratised music production. That’s fantastic. More people than ever can make music. More creativity is always a good thing. But it also means there’s an overwhelming amount of music being released every single day. Even if you make an amazing track today, it’s incredibly difficult for it to reach enough listeners and enough DJs to become one of those defining records.
Are you finding techno today that inspires you in a similar way to the music you were hearing and creating twenty-five years ago?
That’s actually quite a difficult question. Over the years I’ve gone through different phases. For a long time I was playing peak-time techno, and more recently I’ve moved back towards darker, groove-driven music. Every time I make one of those shifts, it feels exciting again. I’m naturally curious. Whenever I discover something that genuinely excites me, I react to it like a kid hearing something new for the first time. The challenge is that I’ve been part of this scene for so long. A lot of today’s music has roots in ideas we were already exploring twenty or twenty-five years ago. So it’s naturally harder for me to experience that feeling of complete surprise. I’ve already heard many of those ideas before. But that doesn’t mean I’m not inspired. Far from it. I still love digging through new music, looking for those records that make me stop and think, “Wow… this is special.” These days I probably find freshness less in completely new sounds and more in the way different influences and genres are being combined. That really interests me. And yes—I still find a lot of music that genuinely inspires me.
It feels like you’ve been reconnecting with your early years as an artist recently, and your current sound seems closer to those roots than it has been for quite some time. Why do you think that is?
Every phase of my career has been genuine. Whenever I moved away from a particular style of techno, it wasn’t because I was following trends. It was because I’d reached a point where I felt I’d explored that sound enough. The truth is, I’m obsessive in the studio. I produce constantly. And when you spend that much time making one particular style of music, eventually you become hungry for something different. I’ve actually wondered whether that happens mostly to producers who spend as much time in the studio as I do. Some DJs produce a couple of EPs a year and spend most of their time touring. My balance has always been different. Whenever I have the chance, I’m in the studio. Maybe that’s why I reach the point where I need a change. The funny thing is that I never consciously decide to change styles. It just happens naturally. On my computer, I have different folders: peak time, hard groove, techno, different directions. Over time I notice one folder getting bigger and bigger while another slowly stops growing. Eventually I realise I’ve completely moved into a new chapter without ever making a conscious decision. That’s simply how I work. I’ve never tried to chase a particular sound. I’ve always followed whatever genuinely excites me at that moment.
Finally, what advice would you give your younger self twenty-five years ago?
Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.
